


Perfect Storm

by InsiderKiwi



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Storm Chasing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsiderKiwi/pseuds/InsiderKiwi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Armin are meteorologists-turned-storm chasers in Oklahoma when they encounter the perfect storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Storm

**Author's Note:**

> honestly not even gonna pretend this isn't heavily inspired by watching Twister for the first time. i tried to make it different but weh so please don't arrest me and sorry if you've already seen the movie and know what's gonna happen ( ; w ; )/

**June 04, 1994**

Jean drums out the beat to some Beasty Boys song while Armin fiddles with the radio as their truck flies toward the black monolith before them. It’s a massive F5 tornado, the largest Oklahoma has seen in 30 years. They are both meteorologists working on the T.W.I.S.T.E.R. project, a government sponsored program that is attempting to measure the full barometric flux of a tornado as it travels over the earth.

“Are you guys in position yet?” Eren’s voice crackles over the radio. He and the others are waiting further away from the path of the storm.

“We’re close. And it looks like my models were right. This one’s going to travel directly over the anchor,” Armin replies with tangible excitement. He had spent years developing a model to predict the path of superstorms, and now was his moment of reckoning. Jean eases onto the gas pedal a bit harder as Armin ties his hair up in preparation for the winds.

Their mission is to strap a barometer of Jean’s design to a metal base that reaches over 50 feet into the ground. The barometer is designed to withstand winds in excess of 300 mph while collecting data that will assist the team’s ability to model storms.

“Armin, are you ready?”

The blond exhales softly. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Alright, we’re going in.” Armin grips the dashboard as Jean steers the truck into the field where the anchor is positioned. There are hundreds of them installed in this small area of Oklahoma in hopes that one of them might fall in the path of a storm. As they draw closer to the site, Armin observes the tornado in alarm.

“Jean! The storm is starting to swell!” Armin points at the black behemoth, the winds beating ever stronger against the truck’s windows. It takes Jean to notice the base is growing at an alarming rate, accelerating rapidly.

Jean curses and floors the accelerator. They reach the anchor and stumble out of the truck. The storm is deafening this close, winds sounding in a high pitched whine like the whistle of a great black train. Armin opens the hatch the bed of the truck as Jean reaches in to pull the barometer out. Armin grabs the toolbox from the back seat and begins handing the tools to Jean as he secures the base of the instrument.

“Jean, hurry!” The winds blow faster and faster. The hairband is ripped from Armin’s hair.

“Shit! Got it! Back to the truck!” Jean yells over the shrieking winds as he puts the last bolt in place. Toolbox forgotten, the two scramble into the truck as fast as they can. Jean floors the accelerator to get them back on the highway as quickly as possible.

The truck crashes through the field and pulls onto the highway in time for Armin to look back at the lonely instrument being swallowed by the massive black twister. The storm is colossal. Armin curses his models. He didn’t—there was no way for him to predict it would grow to this magnitude this quickly. He is shaken from his reverie by the crackling of the radio.

“You did it! You guys need to get a look at these readings!” Connie’s voice shouts.

“We’re making history!” Sasha cheers. Armin and Jean can hear the wild grin in her voice.

Back where the team is set up, several miles from the storm, the data from the barometer comes pouring in. Able to record barometric pressure up to 50 times per second, it is the first time air pressure at the eye of a twister has been recorded in such detail. Armin turns to Jean and musters a genuine smile. There would be a time to celebrate, but it would be much later.

Armin grabs for the radio, hands desperately searching for the “talk” button. “Guys, you need to get out of there NOW. My models were wrong, or, they never predicted swelling like this.”

Jean glances worriedly at Armin. He guesses he had figured it out by now.

“We’ll wait… you guys to catch up…. hi-tail it to the lab. How long do you…. you’ll be?” Connie’s voice begins to break up.

“Connie… we’re not going to escape the storm. We’re going to try and find a place to take shelter, but you guys need to leave without us,” Armin’s voice trembles at the admission. Jean frantically scans the terrain for any abandoned farmhouses or barns to take shelter in.

“WHAT?! We’re not leaving…. to die!” Armin can hear Eren jerking the radio from Connie’s hands.

“Eren you don’t know that we’re going to die. There’s bound to be some place we can take shelter, but right now you guys need to get to safety. I promise we’ll come back,” Armin’s voice gets quiet towards the end. _Easier said than done_ Jean thinks before spotting a speck of hope on the horizon. An ancient farmhouse stands alone in miles of cornfield. They could make it in time. There was no guarantee the house even had a proper storm shelter or that it was in good condition, but it was all they had.

Mikasa’s calm voice floats over the radio before they lose all contact. “Jean, you better…. Armin back safe or…. kill you.”

“Oi, would it kill you guys to care a bit about me too! I’m in just as much danger!” But the only response is static. Jean sighs and leans back heavily against the leather seat.

Armin turns to face Jean, surprisingly calm. “Looks like it’s just the two of us.”

“How romantic,” Jean mutters before the debris from the storm catches up to them.

It happens in slow motion. The first tree crashes into the ground 10 feet to the truck’s left. The second falls somewhere to their right. The third hits the bed of the truck, causing both of them to slam forward in their seats. Their seatbelts stops them from jerking forward, but the pain in Jean’s collarbone tells him there’ll be at least a bruise later. Jean tightens his hands around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening.

“Armin, can you—?”

“Already on it!” Armin turns around in his seat to warn Jean of where the debris is going to hit.

“Left!”

“Right!”

“Right again!”

The farmhouse is only a few hundred feet away now, but the storm continues to grow stronger. They can make it. They _will_ make it. Jean turns into the corn field. The stalks beat against the side of the truck.

“JEAN! IT’S COMING STRAIGHT AT US!” is all the warning he gets before a massive oak slams into them.

The tree skewers the truck, going straight through the middle of the truck, flipping them twice before the truck lands right side up. Jean presses the gas pedal, but the wheels are stuck. The trunk of the tree is digging into the ground under the truck. He frantically checks on Armin to find him bloody, but alive. The glass in the windshield has cut him on his forehead and shoulder. Jean feels the slow trickle of something wet on his face and realizes he must be bleeding as well. The next thing he feels is the burning pain near his neck. His already bruised collarbone is probably broken, but the most important thing is the massive twister that is nearly on top of them, he reasons. He realizes they had both thrown out their arms on instinct, shielding the other’s chest from the broken glass.

“Armin, can you walk?”

“Y-yeah, I think so.” Armin coughs and rubs the blood that has trickled from his forehead into his eyes.

“Good, because I think we’re going to have to try and outrun it.”

Jean crashes recklessly through the cornstalks making a path for the less athletic Armin to slip through. He grasps the blond’s hand as tightly as he can. The air burns in Armin’s lungs, but the adrenaline and Jean’s tight grip won’t let him stop.

They reach the fence surrounding the farmhouse and Jean curses. They’ll have to run to the front if they want to slip through. The debris is smaller now, but faster. Pieces of wood have become shrapnel, and if a piece hits them right, they’ll be impaled.

The fence shakes and begins to break apart as the back end is lifted into the funnel. Jean takes the chance to slip in between a section of shredded fence and practically pulls Armin through after him. He can see the old wooden door to the storm shelter. It looks old, but it’s enough. The winds grow faster and Jean can feel his steps get heavier as the wind pulls and pushes him away from safety. Armin’s grip grows weaker, but he holds on all the tighter. Armin is breathing hard and pushes his hair, matted with blood, away from his face.

Jean narrowly dodges a piece of fence shooting straight past his head. The piece of wood pierces straight through the wall of the farmhouse, creating a hole large enough to see into the living room.

They reach the shelter door. Jean tries to pry the door open, but the wind makes the flimsy wooden door feels as if it’s made of lead. Armin goes around to the other side to push. Together they peel the door open and Jean pushes Armin inside first. He follows, pulling the door closed with the last of his strength. As soon as it shuts, there is silence.

Jean secures the metal lock, but it is flimsy and will easily break.

“Jean, take off your belt,” Armin says, already stripped of his and pulling Jean further into the shelter.

“A-Armin, what are you—?”

“I’m anchoring us to the pipes over here,” he says, cinching his belt around his arm and torso, “That door may break and there’s nothing stopping us from getting sucked out and into the storm. Wait, what did you think I was doing?”

“N-nothing,” Jean replies before undoing his leather belt. They secure their makeshift harnesses to the house’s ancient pipework. Neither of them mention the fact that they are old and rusty and likely to break.

The door to the shelter begins to rattle. Jean reaches out to pull Armin close as it rattles harder. The storm can be heard faintly outside, pounding against the door as if to be let in. Armin grips Jean’s arm hard. Then, the doors disappear, sucked into the vortex.

The roar of the storm is deafening. They jerk against their harnesses. The pain in Jean’s collarbone burns, but Armin’s fingernails digging into his bicep keeps him there, with him. Armin remembers the storm that pulled his parents from their basement so many years ago. He grips Jean harder. Not again. Never again.

The tornado persists for what feels like an eternity. They do not let go of each other.

The aftermath is quiet.

Jean feels Armin’s body trembling in his arms before he opens his eyes and looks down. They are illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the entrance to the storm shelter. His worry is for nothing. The excited gleam in Armin’s eyes is a relief.

“That was… That was incredible!! Jean!” Armin’s hands let go of his arm and the pipes to wrap around his neck in a hug that topples them both over. Jean hisses at the pain that shoots through his collarbone.

“Oh, s—sorry,” Armin says, embarrassed at the display.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jean mumbles, face growing red. Armin reaches out to peel away the collar of Jean’s shirt, revealing a large purpling bruise near his shoulder.

“That looks like it hurts,” Armin comments, reaching up to check if it was broken.

“Not that much—FUCK!” Jean yelps as Armin applies pressure to the sore spot. Armin smirks up at him.

“It’s definitely broken. Guess we better get you to a hospital.” Armin extends his hand to help Jean stand.

Jean mumbles something intelligible about how he doesn’t need to go to a hospital he’s _fine,_ Armin, and the two clamber out of the storm shelter.

Where the old white farmhouse had stood lies nothing but air and a smattering of debris. Most of the house had been blown away by the twister, to God knows where. They were the tallest thing for acres; most of the corn fields had been flattened. All signs of the storm had vanished, the sky partly cloudy and blue as the ocean.

Jean shields his eyes from sunlight and squints to a small dust cloud forming along the highway. He recognizes the distant caravan of jeeps, trailers, and trucks full of scientific equipment as the rest of their crew. Jean grabs Armin’s hand and begins waving frantically. As the vehicles grow closer, Eren leans out the window and waves.

Armin squeezes Jean’s hand. “We’re going to have to go straight back to the lab after we get you checked out. You’re going to have a lot of data to analyze when we get back.”

“You’re getting a check-up too,” Jean replies, wiping the dried blood off of Armin’s forehead, “and what do you mean I’m analyzing the data? What will you be doing?!”

“I’m going to be running the lab, obviously.”

“Like hell! How about you analyze the data and I run the lab?”

Armin grabs the collar of Jean’s shirt and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s short and sweet, but Jean is red up to his ears when they pull apart.

“Alright, you can run the lab.”

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by janarru.tumblr.com
> 
> hmu @ nikehime.tumblr.com


End file.
